


Sweet to Thee: Codas

by wouldyouknowmore



Series: Sweet to Thee [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Smut, that slow burn is now a steady rolling boil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldyouknowmore/pseuds/wouldyouknowmore
Summary: A collection of little mini-sequels followingAll Seasons Shall Be Sweet to Thee





	1. Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know the fic is rated Explicit, but that'll come into play next time. This first installment is safe for work.

Weeks have gone by without a word. No visits, no letters, not even a message sent with one of the merchants that come and go every few days… much less the promised proposal. Summer is half-gone, and Loki is in a worse temper these days than ever before.

 

He’d been a fool to think he was anything more than an exotic trophy to Thor, a fool for trusting an Asgardian in the first place, for opening his heart and his legs and—

 

His cup rattles clear off the desk as the entire palace shakes, and his pen tears straight through the very dry, very official letter he’s been working on for hours. 

 

“Ottar!” he shouts, furious, meaning to send the boy down to tell those Aesir bastards that their deliveries are to be sent directly to the city, not the palace courtyard. They should know by now, Norns take them, and he’s sick to death of that ground-shaking Bifrost. 

 

But when Ottar doesn’t come running, Loki remembers that he’s down with his mother today, assisting with a complicated birth. And so, muttering curses to no one in particular, Loki storms down to the courtyard himself.

 

There’s a whole contingent of einherjar collected just outside the throne room, however, a large, heavy-looking chest at the foot of each of them, but before he can demand an explanation, he’s interrupted. 

 

“I apologize for the wait. It took some time to work out the details with my father.”

 

And of course, Thor is standing there in his finest ceremonial armor, a winged helmet that Loki’s never seen before tucked under one arm, looking at Loki with more love and warmth and delight in his eyes than Loki would have thought possible.

 

“I missed yo—,” Thor starts to say, but Loki doesn’t give him the chance to finish before he grabs ahold of his face and hauls him down for a not-at-all chaste kiss, which Thor returns with enthusiasm.

 

“I hate you,” Loki mutters as they part, and Thor grins at him. 

 

“I can tell. I love what you’ve done with your hair, by the way.”

 

It’s then that Loki remembers he’s wearing his oldest, shabbiest loincloth today, not even a cape to help hide it, and his hair is still braided from bed, pulling free from the plait in a slept-on, tangled mess. 

 

“Shut up,” Loki huffs, ridiculously in love.

 

“Well, I’ve requested an audience with your father, but I can go home if you’d rather—”

 

“Don’t you dare.”

 

Thor’s smirk fades into confusion when Loki pulls away and starts down the hall, and he calls after him, “Aren’t you coming in?”

 

“I’ll be right back!” Loki shouts. 

 

 

 

———

 

 

 

“Laufey-king,” Thor has just begun when Loki joins them not long after, and he pauses, trying to hide a smile as Loki takes his place next to his father’s throne, his hair now falling in waves over his shoulders, his best armor polished to a high shine, and his horned crown gleaming on his head. 

 

Loki doesn’t bother to hold his own grin back.

 

“Laufey-king,” Thor says again. “I want to thank you once more for your part in the renewed friendship between Jotunheim and Asgard, and for allowing me the honor to experience the beauty and wonder of your realm firsthand.”

 

Laufey nods at the compliment, while Loki tries to still his anxious, fidgeting hands. 

 

“I have one more boon to ask of you, however.”

 

“Is that so?” Laufey asks, no hint of his mood in his tone or upon his face. 

 

“Aye. It is no small favor, I confess, and the humble gifts I’ve brought with the Allfather’s blessing cannot hope to match the treasure I would ask you to give up.”

 

Without a word, Thor’s men move forward to place their chests at the lowest step below the dais, and Loki sucks in a breath when they’re opened. Every last one is filled to the brim with Asgardian gold. 

 

“This is only a small portion of what I offer as compensation for your loss,” Thor adds. 

 

If Loki knows his father at all, that subtle twitch in his jaw could either mean he’s working himself up to a rage, or is pleasantly surprised. But Loki also knows how dearly Laufey would love to be rid of him, and waits for further clues, his stomach twisting in anticipation. 

 

“You have not yet named this prize, son of Odin.”

 

Thor’s eyes find Loki’s, and he says, “I ask for the hand of your son, Loki, if he will have me.”

 

_He certainly will,_ Loki thinks to himself, but stays silent until he’s called upon.

 

“I see,” Laufey says. “You have promised no shortage of gold to me for my acquiescence, but what would you promise my son?”

 

“Above all else, my love and devotion, which are already his,” Thor replies. “I would give him the Nine Realms and all within them if he asked it of me, but I hope that a home with me and the freedom to live as he sees fit will suffice for now, as well as the assurance that he will want for nothing within my power to give for the rest of his days. You are also aware that as Asgard’s heir, there may come a time when I ascend to my father’s throne, and I would have Loki at my side to lend me his guidance as both my advisor and consort.”

 

_Consort_ has Loki warming pleasantly. He’d never had any hope of being a king himself, not with Helblindi and Byleistr and whatever heirs they may produce ahead of him, but the idea of Thor upon that vast golden throne and Loki next to him, with a Jotunn title and all of Asgard’s authority behind it, is undeniably attractive in a way Loki’s never fully appreciated before. And _advisor_ as well… Thor had joked about that back in Asgard, but it seems he was more serious than Loki realized, and he can’t help but preen a bit at that, too.

 

“Very well,” Laufey begins, but it seems that Thor has not yet finished. 

 

“There is also one other gift I promise him,” he says, and turns back to Loki—and Loki feels his heart almost stutter when he sees the look in his eyes. “Once our vows are spoken, I will present to him the Casket of Ancient Winters. It shall be laid it at his feet, to do with as he pleases.”

 

The hair at the nape of Loki’s neck raises under the intensity of Laufey’s gaze upon him, but he pays his father no mind, too stunned to look away from Thor. 

 

The Casket… what could he do but return it to Jotunheim? But the thought of it being _his_ and his alone…

 

“Do these terms seem acceptable to you, my son?” Laufey asks him after a moment, and Loki has to admit that his father’s done a remarkable job of keeping his voice steady in the face of such a pronouncement.

 

“They do, father.”

 

“And the man? Is he acceptable to you as well?”

 

“He is,” Loki breathes. 

 

“Then I see no reason to deny you this favor, Odinson, though you would take part of my heart along with you.”

 

His father’s words don’t register at the moment, though later, Loki will realize what he’d said and have a good, long laugh over it, just before he realizes there’s going to be a very serious conversation about that Casket and what will become of it very soon.

 

But for now, Loki makes his way down from the dais, hardly feeling the shallow steps carved for him beneath his feet, and allows Thor to take both his hands. His betrothed, he thinks, just before Thor kneels before him and leaves a line of soft, lingering kisses across his knuckles. 

 

“I told you last time that I would see you soon,” Thor says quietly from the floor, looking up at him, “and I would repeat myself now, but with one amendment: I’ll see you much sooner than that turned out to be.”

 

“You’d better,” Loki replies with a smile.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #2 is already in the works (and is def nsfw, you're welcome), and while I've outlined several more after that, I can't make any guarantees on the timing here. I wasn't supposed to write any in the first place, after all. Lol.
> 
> Stay tuned!


	2. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's first trip back to Asgard

Loki had anticipated a number of intense feelings to accompany his first visit back to Asgard after Thor’s proposal… excitement and anxiety chief among them, especially considering the circumstances of this trip in particular, but his first impression is not one of fondness for the familiar view, or of nervous apprehension for the announcement and feast to come tomorrow. Even the thrill at the thought of seeing his betrothed again (and maybe even finding the chance for some quality time spent alone—and unclothed) momentarily fades as he steps out onto the Bifrost, Heimdall’s pleasant, “Welcome back, your highness,” still echoing through the observatory.

 

Asgard is absolutely _stifling_.

 

“Would you say this weather is typical for the season?” Loki calls back to the Watchman, pulling at his collar. He’d expected the heat, but nothing had prepared him for the disgusting humidity—he can feel the thick air _on_ him, creeping into his clothes and hair and sticking to his skin.

 

“Mostly,” Heimdall replies. “It’s been a rainier summer than what we normally have, but also far greener. The harvest this autumn should be unparalleled.”

 

Not encouraging, Loki thinks, but really, there isn’t anything for him to do but get used to it.

 

“I suspect we have you to thank for that,” Heimdall continues, and at Loki’s confused look, he adds, “Our resident god of thunder and fertility is in a very good mood these days.”

 

Strangely enough, that makes the unpleasant conditions a little easier to bear, and after he’s given Heimdall a slightly embarrassed farewell, he decides that perhaps he and Thor could have a conversation about controlling his influence over the weather a little better, especially if Loki is going to be living in Asgard full-time very soon.

 

 

———

 

 

His next unexpected check comes when he’s stopped halfway to his old rooms by a servant, breathlessly calling after him to wait. It seems he’s been assigned a room in the actual guest wing this time, and when asked for an explanation, the young girl flushes bright pink and mumbles something about propriety and the proximity to Thor’s quarters. 

 

(The fact that Thor had probably chosen a nearby room for him the first time around for a specific reason had been lost on Loki until that moment, and he silently berates himself for his obliviousness for the thousandth time.)

 

While it can’t quite compare to the royal family’s wing, his new room is still opulently appointed, the linens just as fine and the furniture of equal craftsmanship. He has no separate sitting room as he’d had before, but there’s a desk and a small sofa off to one side, next to the unlit hearth, and his bathing chamber is more than sufficient. 

 

(The sight of his hair in the mirror above the washbasin is a shock, however... He’s never seen it so curly, and blames the humidity for it.)

 

He’s just about to start pulling his things out of his small pack when there’s a knock at the door—a servant, most likely, here to show him to this last minute foreign council meeting, wherever it’s to be held.

 

But it isn’t a servant, and Loki is incapable of doing anything more than grinning like an idiot when he sees Thor standing there in the corridor, his golden arms bare in a well-worn leather tunic instead of his usual armor. 

 

“Hello,” Thor says, smiling just as wide. 

  
“Hello,” Loki replies. 

 

A moment later, Thor has stepped inside, gathered Loki up in his arms, and kicked the door shut behind him.   
  
“Loki,” Thor breathes into his hair, holding him close and breathing deeply. Loki’s sure he must smell of sweat and horse after his ride to the palace, and it’s likely all the more obvious compared with Thor’s warm, earthy scent, but it’s a bit difficult to be worried about that when Thor kisses him, soft and slow, as though he means to stay here for the foreseeable future. 

 

“I’ve got a council meeting soon,” Loki sighs against his lips regretfully after what feels like hours, but instead of the disappointment he might have expected to see on Thor’s face, he’s met with a sly but slightly apologetic look. 

 

“You don’t, actually. I may have summoned you a day early under false pretenses,” Thor admits. 

 

Loki has to carefully school his expression as he asks, “And to what nefarious end?”

 

“To enjoy the pleasure of your company, naturally. The rest of the day is ours, to do with what we please. And we don’t have to spend it all here either—I’d be content to sit in the library and watch you read, after all—”

 

Thor doesn’t have the opportunity to finish this statement, because Loki shifts to his own Jotunn skin in a flash and shoves Thor toward the bed with one hand, tugging at his clothes with the other.

 

“Let’s stay in, shall we?” Loki suggests, and Thor doesn’t need to be told twice. 

 

“That sounds fine,” he agrees, and starts stripping himself.

 

They collide once again when they’re bare, Thor dropping to the edge of the bed and Loki clambering into his lap at the first available moment. 

 

“Hello,” Thor murmurs again, but this time Loki only responds with a grin before bending down to claim his lips. It seems to be an acceptable answer, and for the next few minutes, the conversation continues in the same manner. But Loki’s impatience gets the better of him soon enough, and then both of them forget how to kiss properly as Loki lifts up and then sinks back down onto Thor’s cock, leaving them gasping into each other’s mouths, lips brushing clumsily. And it only gets better when Loki shifts his knees wider apart and moves again, determined to take Thor as deep as he possibly can… and even better still as Thor moves with him, driving up into him slowly, and turns his attentions to Loki’s throat, applying his lips and tongue and the barest hint of teeth with maddening intent.

 

_Oh_ , how he’d missed this, Loki thinks, missed Thor’s hands on him, his mouth, his cock—

 

“ _Fuck_ , Loki,” Thor groans, and Loki realizes he’d said that aloud. He doesn’t get the opportunity to be embarrassed, however, or even shocked at hearing that sort of language from Thor for the first time, because Thor tips backwards onto the bed then, hauling Loki down with him, tangling his fingers into Loki’s hair as he attempts to kiss the life out of him. 

 

But while this new arrangement leaves Loki nearly breathless, his cock slipping over Thor’s stomach with every slow roll of his hips, Thor’s tongue sliding against his, he’s lightheaded with the burning intensity of it... but the _literal_ heat is becoming a little too much to bear as well. 

 

Thor chases after him when he pulls away, rising up off the bed to follow him, but Loki just presses him back into the linens with both hands on his chest—and if the awed little moan that Thor gives him for that is any indication, he doesn’t really have a problem with it after all. 

 

(And perhaps one of these days, Loki will have to investigate that reaction a little bit further...)

 

His breath comes a little easier up here, but if he could sweat in this shape, Loki is sure that he’d be drenched by now, and even Thor’s skin is glistening under his hands. The sight is far more stirring than he would have thought, and he stalls a moment, dragging his fingers across the swell of one pectoral. He’s so riveted that he doesn’t even notice that Thor has taken hold of his hips, until his grip tightens almost painfully when Loki thumbs over a nipple... and so he repeats the motion, just to feel the sharp bite of Thor’s fingers digging into him again. 

 

(... He may need to look into this in the future as well.)

 

But Thor is still inside him, and the irregular rhythm of his short little thrusts is too good to ignore any longer. Loki abandons his careful exploration of Thor’s chest after one last firm squeeze of the solid flesh beneath this fingers, and concentrates instead on the movement of his hips, allowing himself get lost in the steadily building pleasure. 

 

At some point, he closes his eyes, listening to the creak of the bed frame beneath them, Thor’s harsh breathing, marveling at how incredible Thor feels in him... and without thinking, he reaches for his cock, too caught up in the sensations to consider that he’s being watched until Thor swears softly and pulls him out of his reverie—and he lets go of himself, suddenly self-conscious.

 

“No, don’t stop,” Thor urges then, shaking his head. “Please... Let me see.”

 

Loki hesitates, but the hungry look on Thor’s face, the way he absently licks his lips, is rather persuasive... so he takes a breath and resumes the course of his hand, wrapping it around his length, watching Thor watch _him_ all the while. He’s well-practiced in this, but with Thor’s eyes on him, even his own touch feels different, better, and he can’t keep from gasping Thor’s name as he strokes himself. 

 

Thor swears again, and once Loki learns to time the motion of his hand with the rise and fall of his hips, Thor catches on with the pace himself, and their combined efforts leave Loki a panting, ragged mess by the time he comes not long after, spilling across Thor’s stomach and chest and groaning at the sight of it. Thor seems to be similarly affected, and his grip on Loki becomes nearly hard enough to bruise as he drives up into him twice more and comes as well.

 

Loki doesn’t resist when Thor tugs him down once more, and he lets his eyes fall shut when Thor brings their foreheads together. It’s quiet for a moment, aside from their labored breathing, but once Loki’s heart rate returns to normal, Thor sighs. 

 

“Staying in was an excellent idea,” he says, and Loki grins down at him.

 

“Of course. It was _my_ idea.”

 

“But the best part of your excellent idea,” Thor continues, “is that we still have the rest of the afternoon and evening to _keep_ staying in. After all, we’ve only managed to cross one thing off the list so far.”

 

Bemused, Loki leans back (and purposefully lets his curls sweep across Thor’s face in the process, just to be a nuisance) and asks, “What list would that be?”

 

“The list of things I’ve imagined.”

 

Loki certainly hasn’t forgotten the look in Thor’s eyes back in his guest suite in Jotunheim the first time they’d done this, but now, with Thor’s cock still half-hard inside him and just a bit more experience, he doesn’t find it nearly as intimidating as it had seemed at the time.

 

In fact, he could almost consider it a challenge.

 

“We’ll have to rectify that at once,” he says with a smile. “But then we can’t forget about the other list, either.”

 

“Other list?”

 

“Yes. All the things that _I’ve_ imagined.”

 

Thor laughs and says, “Norns, I love you,” and kisses him. 

 

 

———

 

 

Their respective lists are a fair bit shorter by the next morning, when Thor regretfully climbs out of bed and dresses, citing a whole new list of duties he must attend to today, but not before he takes a good long while working the tightness out of Loki’s shoulders and back and thighs while Loki attempts to melt into the linens. 

 

(And thinks fondly on the last several hours spent making up for lost time, despite feeling as though he won’t be able to walk straight for days... the look on Thor’s face when Loki had shifted down the bed and dragged his lips up the side of his cock will feature prominently in his dreams for some time, he’s sure. He hadn’t really known what he was doing, but licking the taste of himself from Thor’s skin had seemed a decent place to start, and by the end of it, when he’d misjudged the timing and caught a good portion of Thor’s seed across his cheek and nose and eyelashes, the stunned little whimper that Thor had given him left him feeling more confident about future attempts.)

 

But sooner than Loki would like, Thor leaves a kiss on the top of his head and says he’ll send breakfast up shortly, and then mentions as he leaves that Frigga has left Loki some new clothes for tonight’s feast in the wardrobe. 

 

Loki had nearly forgotten the whole purpose of this visit, and does his best to ignore the nervous twist of his stomach while he makes himself presentable and tries to straighten out the bedclothes before the servant arrives with his breakfast.

 

 

———

 

 

For all his calm, imposing demeanor, Loki is certain that his father is bearing the heat far less comfortably than he is in his Aesir skin as they make their way towards the largest feasting hall. Frigga had selected light, breathable fabrics for him, along with an open throat that dips well below his collar bones to help keep him cool, but there’s no helping Laufey, he knows.

 

“You’re going to roast alive here,” Laufey mutters to him. “Are you certain about this?”

 

“I’m sure I’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

 

Laufey gives him a skeptical look, but then they’re passing a familiar tapestry, and Loki slows his pace until he’s stopped just outside the high archway that leads into the hall.

 

“Stop your fidgeting,” Laufey says, and Loki realizes that he’s been wringing his hands subconsciously. “This may be your engagement feast, but they’ll be staring at me, not you.”

 

That’s likely, Loki knows, with the way Laufey towers over him, but he can’t help his nerves. He’d debated back and forth all day about whether or not to attempt this in his own shape, but the weather and a good portion of anxiety had convinced him to save that reveal for later on. He isn’t ready just yet.

 

It’s time for the first step, however, and after a brief nod from his father, Loki straightens his back, and steps into the hall.

 

A hush falls over the Asgardians already assembled, and though Loki does feel dozens of eyes upon him, it’s clear that the majority of the hall’s attention is fixed several feet higher. He can’t really blame them—Laufey is the first full-size Jotunn they’ve seen since the war—and he has to admit how grateful he is that his father accepted Odin’s invitation, if only for the distraction away from himself.

 

But then he sees Thor waiting for him, standing next to the high table, and his steps grow a little lighter. 

 

Once everyone has taken their places, Laufey standing so very much taller next to Odin and Loki brushing shoulders with Thor, trying to keep his hands still at his sides, Odin addresses the hall in a booming voice. He mentions something about uniting the realms and ushering in a new era of peace and friendship, but Loki has a difficult time paying attention after Thor slips his hand into Loki’s inconspicuously behind the table. 

 

Hearing his name draws him back into Odin’s announcement, then, but only in time for the very last of it. 

 

“... to be wed at Yule, and may their union be blessed.”

 

The applause that follows is lively (thanks in part to Volstagg and Fandral cheering over everyone else’s polite congratulations), though there’s a wealth of surprised whispers spreading throughout the hall. Loki knows the date is set rather early for a formal, royal engagement, which is bound to draw no shortage of speculation, but everyone had agreed that winter would be best for the Jotunn guests, and between other plans and events and Thor’s firm insistence that the following year was much too long to wait (with which Loki agreed), there hadn’t been much else for it. But despite that, the stares feel _personal_ , as though he’s being sized up...

 

That suddenly ceases to matter, however, when Thor leans over and presses his lips to Loki’s cheek, warm and gentle and adoring for all to see. He forgets to be self-conscious, just for a moment, and can’t hold back a smile. 

 

He doesn’t even notice how the crowd’s enthusiasm doubles at this, and for the rest of the feast, he ignores everything else and remains entirely fixated on his husband-to-be.

 

 

 


	3. Bottom Thor Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick and dirty installment in honor of Bottom Thor Day on Tumblr :D

The door of Loki’s bathing chamber in his guest suite is open when he returns from his latest Jotunn reintegration planning session, soft light burning through the gap in the door, movement casting a flickering shadow onto the bedroom floor.

 

He pauses, holds his breath.

 

It’s not something he’s ever wanted to consider, but it isn’t the first time he’s wondered how deeply Asgardian prejudices run… deep enough for an attempt on his life? Could the betrothal announcement have pushed someone to this?

 

But then the door is opened wide, and Thor is there—completely nude and half hard, as a matter of fact—and Loki quickly secrets his dagger back into a pocket dimension.

 

“Please tell me you’re going to wander our home naked all the time once we’re married,” he says, smirking to hide his still-fading nerves, but Thor just gives him a patient smile and points toward the bed.

 

“Flat on your back, if you would.”

 

Loki’s first instinct is to refuse simply on principle, but the promise of what’s to come greatly outweighs his irritation at being told what to do. He takes his time undressing, though, fully aware of Thor’s eyes on him as he peels off layer by layer, and then finally shifts as slowly as he can, watching Thor’s gaze follow the blue as it creeps outward from the center of his chest.

 

He sees a shine on Thor’s hand, almost as if it’s wet, when he turns and climbs into bed, and once he’s on his back as requested, Thor joins him. The smell of him, fresh from the bath, and the proximity and the anticipation all have Loki’s cock on its way to full attention, but then Thor gets a hand on him—and  _oh_ , it’s  _slick_ , not wet, and the way his length slips through Thor’s fist leaves him gasping and hitching his hips up into it already.

 

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Thor tells him, as though he’s making polite conversation over the dinner table, “but by Aesir standards, you have rather a lot of this.”

 

“Oh?” Loki replies, more whine in his voice than he intends.

 

He  _has_  noticed that though Thor’s cock has his beat as far as the girth is concerned (and it almost feels custom made for his cunt, he’s thought on several occasions so far), Loki’s is definitely longer. It’s not as though he has much else to compare them to, of course—but Thor is still stroking him in long, slow pulls, and it’s too good to really care about anything else right now.

 

“Yes. And I think it’s high time I got to enjoy it properly.”

 

Thor lets go of him then, but Loki doesn’t have much opportunity to mourn the loss, because in half a moment, he’s been straddled, Thor bracing himself with a broad hand planted on Loki’s chest.

 

“What—,” is all that Loki can think to say.

 

But then Thor’s reaching behind him, lifting his hips, guiding Loki’s cock—and Loki immediately latches onto his hips, bites down hard on his bottom lip as Thor sinks down onto him. The heat, the slide, the tight clench of him… Loki can’t even think straight, and the sight of Thor above him with this lips parted and breathing harshly only makes it that much better.

 

He stills once he’s all the way down, and Loki is grateful for the reprieve, despite the effort it takes to not thrust up into him. Thor’s weight resting on his hips helps with that. But he doesn’t know how he’ll survive this, much less last long enough to be of any use whatsoever.

 

 _“Thor,”_  he pleads, and Thor looks down at him, eyes half-lidded.

 

Ymir and all the Norns, Aesir  _and_ Jotunn, give him strength, he thinks.

 

Years later, or so it seems, Thor begins again in small, careful movements, rising and falling in time with his breath, and Loki has to look up at the canopy over the bed to distract himself from the look of deep concentration on Thor’s face. By the time Thor is lifting nearly all the way off before dropping back down, Loki can’t help but steal a glance down at where they’re joined, and watch his cock sinking into him.

 

And he immediately has to think of the deepest, coldest Jotunn winter, of mind-numbingly boring meetings with his father’s council of elders, budgets and trade agreements, to bring himself back from the edge.

 

But then he realizes that he doesn’t have to be a passive participant here, or let Thor do all the work… so he lets go of his death grip around a hipbone with one hand and slides it up Thor’s stomach, over his chest. He pauses momentarily to brush the pads of his fingers across a nipple, relishing the noise Thor makes at that, and self-indulgently cups the swell of his pectoral in his palm and squeezes.

 

He pays for it, though, and once Thor briefly tightens up around the head of his cock at the top of his little arc and slams back down with a little more force, Loki nearly howls, and decides to get serious before he loses it entirely.

 

Thor gives him an encouraging hum when he drags his fingers through the coarse golden hair at the base of his cock, and an even more encouraging curse when Loki thumbs away the wetness at the tip and smears it over the bundle of nerves just below the head. He figures out his timing after a few easy strokes, and suddenly Thor’s rhythm starts to slip, and there’s a tremble in his thighs.

 

The rush that this development provides goes straight to Loki’s head, and he plants his feet flat on the bed for leverage and starts to fuck up into Thor a little harder, despite the added strain on his already fragile control.

 

And just when Loki decides that he can’t hold back any longer, Thor tightens up around him again, gasps his name, and comes… and Loki follows immediately after, closing his eyes and spilling deep inside him.

 

Both of them lay there panting for several minutes after Thor lifts off his cock with a hiss and flops down onto the bed as well. But eventually, Thor lifts his head up from the rumpled linens, his face shining with sweat, and breaks the silence.

 

“Hold on,” he says. “Do  _Jotnar_  have prostates?”

 

Loki has the gift of seidr, not precognition, but all at once, he receives the clearest vision of Thor between his thighs, a couple fingers of one hand deep in his cunt, another two from the other sliding into his ass, and Thor’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock… and he desperately hopes he’s just seen a glimpse of the near future.

 

The look on his face must give Thor his answer, because he just shakes his head and says mournfully, “Oh, that is just  _unfair_.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/post/179254372222/bottom-thor-day) :D


	4. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Frigga have a chat, and he makes one last wedding-planning decision.

The request is unexpected, but not unusual. After all, Loki’s made more than one trip back to Asgard for the sole purpose of wedding planning already, so it isn’t surprising that Frigga would send for him after today’s council meeting (discussing trade-related matters, which really shouldn’t concern him anymore, but here they are, still… the Asgardian council is nothing but stubborn). 

 

She waits for him in the throne room, dressed in varying shades of gold much like the trees outside. Autumn is in full swing, and though the all-important date is fast approaching, Loki _had_ thought that everything besides his own wardrobe had been decided upon already, but perhaps he was mistaken. There’s also an unfamiliar man with her, and Loki mentally prepares himself for the gawking that usually accompanies Asgardians having a close look at him for the first time… the curiosity, quickly followed by disappointment when they find that their prince’s Jotunn betrothed seems to look like any other Aesir. 

 

“Loki, dear, thank you for coming,” Frigga tells him as he approaches.

 

“Of course, your grace. Are we having second thoughts on the seating arrangement, or is it the menu today?”

 

“Neither, but don’t think you can get away with that complaint just because you say it with such an amiable tone.”

 

Loki accepts the gentle rebuke with a sly grin that matches the queen’s, and gives her a respectful tilt of his head as he says, “Forgive me,” with no remorse whatsoever.

 

“I’ll excuse it, but only because I know you’re simply eager for the day itself and weary from all this planning,” she replies. “But I need your assistance, actually, if you’ve had a chance to master the illusion-weaving techniques in that last book I sent.

 

“This is Aric, and I’ve tasked him with retouching our frescoes here in the throne room before the ceremony,” she continues, and then gestures toward the ceiling. “I’m not certain that your father is truly to scale, however, and after seeing him in person again at the announcement feast, I have my doubts about his skin tone as well. Would you be able to conjure a projection of him for reference purposes?”

 

It so happens that Loki had just mastered the art of duplicating himself three weeks ago, but he doesn’t see why he couldn’t attempt his father as well…

 

After a moment of careful concentration, Laufey appears before them, at full height and only flickering once before the image stabilizes, and Aric takes a startled step back.

 

(And now that Loki knows he can manage this, he begins to imagine what sort of fun he could have at home in the time he has left there.)

 

But notes and preliminary sketches are made, and after Loki has the illusion crouch low so that his clan lines can be seen up close, Frigga dismisses her artist and takes a closer look at Laufey’s double herself.

 

“These markings are hereditary, yes?” she asks, and Loki nods.

 

“Yes, that’s correct.”

 

“And so yours are the same?”

 

“Mostly,” Loki says, glancing over at his father’s face. “There’s some variance thanks to my mother’s genes, but they’re close enough to identify my brothers and myself by. Father’s forehead is slightly different from ours, and the cheeks…”

 

Frigga looks over at him as he points, smiling… and after a brief but furious internal debate, he says, “Perhaps I should just show you,” and shifts to his own shape. A flutter of anxiety seems to follow the blue as it races across his skin, but as soon as it sweeps over his face, Frigga’s expression turns to delight.

 

“Oh, Loki, how lovely you are,” she sighs, and his nerves subside just a bit. “Thank you for allowing me to see… and yes, I see the differences now. Do you dress similarly to your father at home?”

 

He’s come this far, he thinks, and since Frigga is looking at him with such warmth… 

 

With a wave of his hand, Laufey’s illusion disappears, replaced with another laid over himself. He can still feel the brush of his Asgardian clothing over his skin, but when he looks down, he doesn’t see it—only a facsimile of his favored armor and mail skirt, his bare knees and chest, and a cape in sealskin draped over his shoulder.

 

“Asgardian fashion must seem so restrictive,” Frigga says with a laugh, and Loki grins.

 

“It can be, yes.”

 

She takes a moment looking him over, even stepping around to see the rear view, but Loki feels none of the usual discomfort at being examined so closely, and is encouraged by that. And so he stands still, allowing her to look her fill and sate her curiosity.

 

“Thor told me your crown has horns,” she says behind him, and another small hand gesture completes his formal look, his horns arching high above his head. Frigga comes around the front again to see, and he can’t help but chuckle at her surprised expression.

 

“A bit ostentatious, I know,” he admits. “But I had to supplement my height somehow, after all.”

 

“Well, you certainly made an impression on Thor, crown or no crown.”

 

He still isn’t entirely sure how he managed that, if he’s perfectly honest, despite the fact that Thor’s letters and their visits have been filled with praises of his mind and his sense of humor and his stubborn nature (as well as the lines of his body, his lips, his tongue, his— _anyway_ , he keeps those particular letters locked up). He’s glad of it, though, however it happened, and means to tell Frigga so, but it seems she hasn’t finished.

 

“You’ve already charmed half of Asgard, too,” she says. “And the council is so impressed with you, as well as my husband. You’re so quick, and sharp… levelheaded in the face of unpleasantness—,” (Loki tries not to snort at this) “—and they can all see it.

 

“And soon, I know that Asgard will learn to look past their assumptions and fears and appreciate you as you truly are, not as they would like for you to be,” she continues, reaching up, her fingertips soft and light upon his cheek. “And to see the beauty in this face.”

 

The illusion fades as her fingers pass through his crown, and he’s left standing there in his Asgardian clothes and Jotunn skin once more. He can’t seem to form a reply through the lump in his throat, but Frigga just gives him one last smile, thanks him again, and excuses herself. 

 

Loki takes a moment to collect his thoughts before he leaves the throne room. He nearly shifts back to his Aesir shape as he reaches the doors… but then he stops, squares his shoulders, and walks out as he is.

 

 

———

 

 

He does make it to his room, despite the stares in the corridors, but not before he runs into Frigga’s tailor, Solveig, just outside the guest wing. 

 

“Please say you’ll let me dress you for the wedding,” she says eagerly, doing her best not to stare. “I know _just_ the color palette to set this skin tone off, your highness. I know you like greens, but _gold_ with this blue would be stunning…”

 

Loki had actually planned to seek her out soon just for that purpose… But he says nothing of it, and manages to steer the conversation elsewhere without committing.

 

He has an idea of what he wants now, for the first time since they started planning, and he thinks he may just go with it.

 

 


	5. Stolen Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's last trip to Asgard before the big day is unexpectedly cancelled, but he's not going to stand for that.

It’s been nearly two months since Loki has seen his husband-to-be, and while the absence is beginning to slowly drive him mad, every day brings him closer to Yule—and more pressing at the moment, closer to his last scheduled visit to Asgard _before_ Yule. From there, only four weeks will remain, and Loki is certain he’ll make it through them if he can just get that last little respite in. Thor has scheduled two full days for them to spend together and alone... no meetings, no wedding plans, just one more moment of quiet before the chaos that’s sure to come.

 

And so, when Fandral, of all people, turns up in Jotunheim a week before Loki is due to depart with news that the Allfather has fallen into an unexpected Odinsleep, Loki shows a remarkable amount of restraint in not shouting his father’s palace down around them. 

 

“Thor has taken the throne temporarily,” Fandral tells him, and Loki can’t even be bothered to care about his staring at everything around him, including Loki himself (it’s _Jotunheim_ , for Ymir’s sake—everyone’s going to be enormous and blue, and Fandral should know that by now). 

 

But Thor has also given Fandral a letter to deliver, and Loki tears the seal open there in the foyer and quickly skims through. 

 

_My love,_

 

_I would say that the timing could not be more inconvenient, but then Father may wind up sleeping straight through Yule and making a fool of me. Don’t panic—I don’t believe he will. The Odinsleeps don’t seem to last very long lately, but keep your fingers crossed all the same._

 

_Since I am burdened with the responsibility of his throne, I won’t have a minute to myself until he wakes. If I did, I would surrender it to you gladly. I like this no more than you, but it seems that the next time we’ll see each other is going to have to be the wedding itself._

 

_Just know that I will to make this up to you ten times over._

 

_And I mean to begin by laying you out on our marriage bed and taking you apart, slowly—_

 

Loki stops there, all too conscious of Fandral’s eyes on him. 

 

(And he tucks the letter into a pocket dimension for later reading, as it continues on for a whole page and a half more.)

 

But while Thor is certainly a man of his word, Loki is far too impatient to wait that long.

 

“Tell me, Fandral,” he says after a moment of consideration, “does Thor keep to a schedule these days?”

 

 

 

———

 

 

On the day that Loki had been meant to leave in the first place, he dresses in his Aesir clothing and skin and makes his way out to the palace courtyard. 

 

“Heimdall,” he says quietly to the sky (feeling foolish as always). “If I understand the situation correctly, your king could likely use a break today.”

 

Travel out of Jotunheim is still technically prohibited without prior arrangement and the Allfather’s approval, he knows, but he doesn’t get the chance to continue with his prepared and well-rehearsed argument, because the Bifrost descends around him with a roar and a flash of color before he can say another word.

 

“You understand correctly,” Heimdall says the moment Loki’s feet touch the floor of the observatory. 

 

Not long after, Loki finds himself pacing the corridor just outside the throne room. Thor is holding court inside, and since Loki doesn’t want to make a distraction of himself, he waits without, wondering just how long this process should really take. Laufey has never seemed to spend so much time hearing his people’s complaints...

 

But then the doors are opened, and the very long line of petitioners make their way out, followed by a few high council members, scribes, and a full detail of einherjar. Finally, trailing well after the end of this procession comes Thor, with rounded shoulders, looking far worse for wear than Loki has ever seen.

 

“Your majesty,” Loki says from his spot near the wall, and Thor stares at him for half a moment before he recovers, breaks into a grin, and drags him into a firm embrace.

 

“What are you doing here?” he breathes into Loki’s shoulder. 

 

“Your Watchman will just let _anyone_ into the realm, did you know that?”

 

Thor sighs, and squeezes him just a bit tighter before he lets go. “I only have fifteen minutes before my next appointment,” he says regretfully, “and then who knows how long I’ll be tied up after that.”

 

Disappointed, but not really surprised, Loki replies, “Then we’ll have to make the most of those fifteen minutes, won’t we?”

 

The look that Thor gives him could sustain him for the next several hundred years, he thinks, but then he’s being led down a side corridor, all the way to a dead end where an alcove opens on a dimly lit, deep niche in the wall. Not the most efficient architectural design, perhaps, but it does afford them a fair amount of privacy, and the low hum of the never-ending palace activity seems to fade away here, distant background noise that hardly interrupts their quiet little corner.

 

As soon as they’re hidden from view, Thor tugs Loki into his arms again, and Loki goes more than willingly, sighing as Thor’s beard rasps against his cheek. He doesn’t really know what he had thought would come of this little covert mission of his, but surely there are worse ways it could go than simply standing here, being held. 

 

“If we had more time,” Thor says, voice soft and low, “what would you rather be doing?”

 

Loki ponders this a moment, smiles to himself, and replies, just as sweetly, “I’d go to the library and let you handle this ruling business on your own.”

 

“Wretch,” Thor complains, pulling back to give him a frown. “You would not.”

 

“I would. You might be king at the moment, but I’m still just a lesser Jotunn prince. What use could I be?”

 

He’s given an eye-roll that could rival one of his own any day (and is rather proud), but then Thor says, “Well, I know what _I_ would rather be doing.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Dragging you back to my bedchamber and burying my face between your thighs.”

 

“Hush,” Loki admonishes him, but only halfheartedly. “That last letter was bad enough. Do you know what you made me do?”

 

Thor hums and brings their lips together. “What’s that?” he asks, and walks Loki slowly toward the wall behind him. 

 

“Well, I’ll spare you the sordid details, but it involved more noise than I care to admit— _mmph_ —and that little present you found me on Alfheim. Long story short, I missed the first half of Helblindi’s nameday feast, locked in my room, wishing you were there as well.”

 

With the cool stone at Loki’s back, and Thor’s oh-so inviting warmth pressed into him from the front, it’s difficult to keep from angling his hips up to meet Thor’s. And the firm line of the half-hard length he finds there makes it all the more tempting. 

 

“Trust me, I wish I had been.”

 

The silence stretches between them for a long while, along with the tension, their breath mingling and eyes locked... until Loki decides he can’t bear it any longer.

 

“How much time do we have left, exactly?”

 

Thor stares a moment more, a hungry look in his eyes, and replies, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t believe I need much time at all.”

 

Loki isn’t sure whose idea it is, if Thor turns him or if it’s his own feet making the decision for him, but next thing he knows, he’s facing the wall, shoving his trousers down around his knees while Thor presses against him from behind, working at the laces of his own breeches with fumbling fingers. Loki doesn’t help his coordination much when he reaches behind himself and into Thor’s underclothes, wrapping an eager hand around his cock… but he’s paid back in kind soon enough when Thor sucks on his index and middle finger for half a promising moment before pressing them straight into Loki without any further preamble. 

 

“Fuck,” Loki hisses into the stone against his cheek. 

 

“If you insist,” Thor says.

 

Loki rolls his eyes, but then does so again for entirely different reasons when those fingers crook just right inside him. 

 

“I think I’m going to have to insist,” he pants.

 

The speed with which Thor’s fingers are replaced with his cock is rather impressive, though the fact that he mutters, “Oh, I’m going to be _so_ late,” as he pushes in could have something to do with that. Loki cants his hips back to make it a little easier and braces himself against the wall, and then for the next few minutes, he’s lost in the hushed moans and rough, stilted thrusts, Thor’s hot breath on his neck and hands slipping under his tunic… It isn’t the easiest angle to work from, but the pleasure is more than enough for Loki to ignore the developing twinge in his lower back and just press back into Thor as best he can. 

 

It seems that Thor’s estimate was an accurate one, and soon, he stifles a groan against Loki’s shoulder and spills deep inside him, filling him up, and Loki barely has a chance to relish the feeling before Thor reaches down and leaves him swearing again. 

 

A glance downward to appreciate the sight of Thor’s competent fingers wrapped around him is rather confusing at first… but then he realizes that he’d forgotten to shift to his Jotunn skin (and that strangely red cock is his own) before they’d started. He could now, but with Thor still inside him (blessedly—and still hard enough for him to grind back against), he finds that he doesn’t really care about anything else, much less breaking his little rule. He hasn’t changed his shape specifically for Thor, anyway.

 

It doesn’t take more than a half a minute before Loki comes himself, and only Thor’s hands on his hips keep him upright as he slumps against the wall and tries to catch his breath. 

 

“How late do you suppose you are now?” he asks after a moment, the grin surely audible in his voice, and Thor pulls away with a groan. 

 

“You _had_ to remind me.”

 

Their clothes are straightened, the unfortunate little mess left on the wall and in the floor is cleaned up (Thor says he doesn’t really care for this cape anyway), but before any goodbyes can be exchanged, Thor pulls him close one last time, and holds him for longer than he probably should.

 

“Thank you for sneaking into Asgard to see me,” he mumbles into Loki’s hair… and something in his quiet, exhausted tone wipes the smile from Loki’s face, and has him speaking up.

 

“I’ll stay until you’ve finished for the day,” he offers without another thought. “I could wait in your rooms.”

 

After all, they hadn’t even gotten to talk. The sex was good, of course, but Loki misses _him_ , not just his touch.

 

“But it could be hours. It almost certainly _will_ be hours.”

 

“I don’t care,” Loki replies, quite truthfully. He hadn’t planned on staying more than an hour or two to begin with, but that doesn’t really matter now.

 

(He’ll just have to remember to see Hyndl for more of his special contraceptive tea the moment he gets home.)

 

The relief is plain on Thor’s face when he pulls away, and Loki knows he’s made the right choice.

 

 


	6. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yule has finally arrived, and the royal wedding along with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't actually the installment I wanted to gift my dearest darling Alex for her birthday, but I couldn't quite keep to the schedule I wanted for these. T^T I hope you like it anyway <33333

“Are you excited, your highness?” Ottar asks through the half-open door, and Loki rolls his eyes… but only because he doesn’t trust his voice not to shake, and feels like he has to reply somehow.

 

While the majority of the Jotunn guests are housed in a separate wing, in rooms suited to their stature, Loki is in his usual bedchamber, which is just fine by him. He’s never wanted a flock of distant relatives and servants fussing at him less than he does today. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Ottar from turning up early this morning, determined to help despite not being able to fit comfortably through the doorway, and after Loki had tried and failed to shoo him, he’d sat down in the corridor (guarding the door, he’d said) and chattered away while Loki paced back and forth for a good long while before eventually starting to dress himself.

 

“ _I_ would be excited. Prince Thor is going to be the king of Asgard. Imagine, the king of Asgard bearing your children someday…”

 

Loki rolls his eyes again, but with far more sincerity this time. “Thor _can’t_ bear my children, Ottar,” he says. 

 

“Oh? I’m sorry. That’s sad. You know my uncle can’t have his own children either.”

 

“Ottar, it’s not—never mind.”

 

(It wasn’t as though Loki had ever believed he would have children before all of this, but now, the mental image of Thor round with his child does leave him aching just a little. He’ll just have to get used to the idea of never being a father, he supposes… but he’s sure being the mother of Asgard’s heirs will be plenty to keep him busy, and plenty fulfilling as well.)

 

“You can, though, can’t you?”

 

Loki adjusts the drape of his brand new cape over his shoulder, straightens his snake brooch holding it in place, and says, “I can.”

 

“Well, that’s fine then.”

 

“Are we quite finished discussing my personal life here?” Loki huffs, and steps into the corridor. 

 

“Of course, my apologies,” Ottar says, scrambling to his feet, then pauses as he takes a long look at Loki. “You look quite nice, your highness.”

 

‘Quite nice’ is a bit less than Loki is aiming for, but then again, this is Ottar speaking. Hopefully Thor will be a bit more impressed with his appearance. His is the only opinion that matters today, anyway.

 

“Go on and fetch my father, then,” he says, suddenly anxious, and waves Ottar away. “It’s time.”

 

 

———

 

 

Outside the throne room, Loki shifts from one foot to the other, his mail skirt clinking softly, barely audible over the dull murmur from the assembled Asgardians and Jotnar within. 

 

“Are you going to do that inside?” Laufey says quietly, and Loki stills himself.

 

To think, he’d been nervous about the stupid announcement feast… and he had even looked as Aesir as the rest of them at the time.

 

But suddenly there are steps approaching, and before Loki can get in a sarcastic reply, the Allfather, Queen Frigga, and Thor appear around the corner. The lurch of Loki’s stomach is strong enough that he’s sure he’ll be ill for half a moment, but then Thor gasps loudly enough for Loki to hear it all the way across the corridor, and the feeling passes. 

 

He’s distantly aware of his father and Thor’s parents exchanging words, Frigga’s feather-light kiss upon his cheek, the press of Laufey’s enormous hand at his back, the sound of the doors closing after the three of them as they head inside to take their places… but none of that is important, because Thor is standing several feet away, staring as though he’s seeing Loki for the first time. His new ceremonial armor fits him like a glove, especially the almost-black scaled sleeves, and with his hair tied back the way Loki likes it and his beard full but neatly trimmed, Loki is sure the only way he could look more devastatingly handsome is if he were nude and splayed across a bed of furs. 

 

The fact that this particular situation will actually come to pass sometime in the next several hours is not lost on Loki, and he begins to wonder how quickly they can duck out of the post-ceremony feast without being rude.

 

… But then he remembers that between now and then, they’re going to be wed, and that the next moment they’ll have alone, Thor will be his husband, and suddenly, his eyes begin to burn.

 

“Loki,” Thor says. “My love. You’re absolutely stunning.”

 

_That_ is what he was looking for, he thinks, sniffling hard and shaking off the overwhelming emotion. 

 

He’s in his own skin, and for the first time, he hasn’t covered any more of it than he would at home on Jotunheim. The armor he wears is brand new and gleaming gold, his vambraces and pauldrons polished to a mirror finish to match his horned crown (also new—a gift from his father, the band encrusted with emeralds over his brow). Helblindi and Byleistr had slain a bear with the purest white fur Loki had ever seen and had had a cape fashioned for him, and it falls all the way to the ground, past his bare feet, and trails after him when he walks. 

 

The only way he could look more traditionally Jotunn would be to grow several feet and shave his head, but he’s content with the overall effect. Thor seems to be as well, and rushes forward to take his hands, though he can only continue to stare, and says nothing more.

 

Loki would like to say something himself, but before he can find the words, a servant peers through a crack in the door and says, “When you’re ready, your highnesses.”

 

‘Ready’ is an understatement, Loki thinks, squeezing Thor’s hands. 

 

“Shall we?” he asks. 

 

 

———

 

 

Loki knows that there was a ceremony, but for the life of him, he can’t quite seem to remember it. Time had sped up the moment he and Thor had stepped into the throne room and had not returned to anything close to normal until hours later, when Loki had looked up from his half empty plate at the high table to find Thor watching him with a soft smile on his face.

 

He recalls Odin pressing their hands together, though their vows are a blur… The memory of Thor smiling and having to tilt his head in order to avoid the outward curve of Loki’s horns when they had kissed is vivid, though, along with the moment that Frigga had called for a loom to be wheeled into the hall after the feast had begun, an unfinished tapestry still upon it featuring an extraordinarily detailed rendering of his and Thor’s first meeting outside the palace in Utgard. Her gift to the two of them, she had said, and mentioned that she looked forward to adding more scenes as the years went on.

 

At some point, someone had taken his crown and his cape for him, and now, the feasting hall is as loud as Loki has ever heard it, but it _is_ the first night of Yule, and there are plenty of Jotnar present with their booming voices echoing over the songs. What amazes him, however, is the fact that he sees a fair bit of mingling between the two peoples. Volstagg is seated on a high bench at a table full of giants, attempting to out-drink Byleistr, who refuses to be bested by an Aesir, voluminous though he may be. Fandral is chatting up one of Loki’s smaller cousins in rather discomfiting way, and Ottar is on the floor next to a smaller table full of Asgardian children, telling them all that he’d lost his arm fighting a bear. There are a number of songs that the two realms share, and the hall seems determined to get through them all at least three times before the long night is over.

 

However long it will take before the relationship between Jotunheim and Asgard is fully mended, Loki thinks that they’ve made rather a lot of progress already.

 

Thor stands then, raises a hand, but the revels continue without so much as an upward glance from the guests—until Helblindi clears his throat with a rumble like a small avalanche, and the hall grows silent almost instantly. 

 

“My thanks, brother,” Thor says to him with a nod, then addresses everyone. “I thank you all for being here, and for your well wishes. But there is one gift left to bestow, and I believe my husband has waited quite long enough for it.”

 

For a moment, Loki isn’t sure what he’s talking about, as overwhelming as the day has been, but then a guard appears at the foot of the dais, and Loki’s breath catches in his throat. 

 

The Casket of Ancient Winters glows blue in the man’s hands, the light shimmering and moving inside it almost like a living thing. It’s far smaller than Loki had ever imagined… and he already knows how comfortably it will fit in his hands. 

 

The Jotnar in the room watch in reverent silence as Thor takes the Casket from the guard, and true to his word, he kneels before Loki, still seated at the table, and rests it on the ground at his feet. 

 

“Yours as promised, my love,” he says. 

 

Dozens of red eyes are upon him, and Loki feels their gazes keenly, along with all their hopes and longing. He shares them, after all, and has his entire life. And so, with a deep breath, he leans down and takes the Casket in his hands.

 

Two days ago, Loki had gone to see Hyndl in the city for the customary examination that all Jotnar underwent before marriage to confirm their health and ability to bear and sire children. These days it’s mostly ceremonial, and doesn’t often include a full pelvic exam, but Hyndl’s soul forge had made it quite simple to determine Loki’s physical condition without any invasive prodding (for which he was thankful—his small size had always made that sort of thing exceedingly uncomfortable). 

 

The sight of his circulatory system and musculature laid out above him in golden light had been fascinating of course, but what he had immediately focused on was a little speck low in his abdomen, glowing brighter than any of the tissue around it. It only confirmed what he had already suspected, along with Hyndl’s surprised _oh, your highness!_

 

And now, with the Casket’s power surging through him and his seidr practically singing in his veins, he would swear that he feels a quiet echo, as though his little speck of light is joining in. 

 

“I think I’ve feasted quite enough for tonight,” Loki tells his husband, voice low, and Thor nods. 

 

 

———

 

 

The newly renovated north tower of the palace smells of fresh-cut timber and mortar and is utterly silent compared to the ongoing ruckus downstairs. There are no servants, and will be no servants until they are called for, so Loki doesn’t bother to wait for the door to be shut after them before he starts to undress, ignoring Thor when he calls, “Would you like the tour first?” down the corridor. He finds the bedchamber on his own, briefly takes in the massive bed and hangings in deep shades of red and green, and then wastes no further time in dragging Thor in along with him. He can explore their new home and see where his things have been laid out (and how they look next to Thor’s) later on.

 

“Such a hurry,” Thor huffs breathlessly between kisses while they both start in on his armor, but he has no room to talk once his breastplate hits the floor with a clang, and he lifts Loki all the way off the ground and carries him to the bed. 

 

Loki had planned on telling him the news as soon as they got in, but then he bounces into the furs and he decides that it can wait a little while. Thor’s down to his trousers, and Loki would rather he didn’t stop there for what would undoubtedly be a long, significant conversation. Just to further drive the point home, he reaches down and slides a finger through the wetness between his thighs where Thor can see it, presses in ever so slightly… 

 

“You’ll be the death of me,” Thor accuses, fighting with his laces, hands clumsy in his haste. 

 

“Not before you get over here and fuck me, husband. I won’t allow it.”

 

Thor swears, and Loki laughs as he hears the sound of leather ripping. But his upper hand doesn’t last for long, and Thor shuts him up a moment later with a searing kiss and strong hands pushing his knees further apart as he makes himself at home between them. Loki is only too happy to concede, and not half a minute later, he’s clutching tight at Thor’s back as he presses into him. 

 

It is not the most romantic encounter that they’ve ever had, nor the longest in duration, but Loki has absolutely no complaints, and comes before Thor can even get a hand on his cock. He feels it building, building, building, and arches up to meet Thor’s thrusts with intention, but his climax still takes him by surprise when it arrives. Thor doesn’t take very long at all to follow once he realizes what’s happened, and Loki is still riding out one last surge of pleasure when he inhales sharply and spills in him, his grip around Loki’s thighs tightening.

 

While Thor kisses him long and deep, and then eventually pulls away so that they can arrange themselves more comfortably, Loki wonders if their need will start to grow less urgent as the centuries pass. He seriously doubts that his own will, but either way, the next twelve days and nights of Yule are entirely theirs, and he doesn’t expect to make it to a single feast. 

 

“Do let me know when you’ve caught your breath,” Thor says across the pillow, grinning. “We’re supposed to be producing heirs now, you know.”

 

_… There’s no time like the present_ , Loki thinks, and steels himself.

 

“Then we’re making good time,” he says. “That’s already taken care of.”

 

Thor blinks, not understanding.

 

Loki props himself up on an elbow and raises an eyebrow, waiting—and then takes no small amount of pleasure in it clicking into place, as Thor’s expression turns from puzzled to stunned and straight on through to overcome… which is when Loki is suddenly seized by the shoulders.

 

“Truly?!” Thor gasps, almost shaking him. “You’re sure?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure. I should have bled two weeks ago, and Hyndl’s soul forge has confirmed it.”

 

Thor half-whispers, “You’re pregnant,” as if he still can’t believe it’s true, and after Loki nods, he only has an instant to appreciate the utterly delighted grin that stretches across Thor’s face before his own is covered in kisses. 

 

He doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed by this. 

 

Eventually Thor makes it down his shoulders and chest, and pauses, hovering over his stomach. 

 

“Here,” Loki says, pointing, remembering how the spot had shone so brightly, and Thor plants another soft, lingering kiss there. 

 

“How long?” he asks.

 

“Four weeks.”

 

With a sigh, Thor rests his cheek against Loki’s belly, looking like the most contented person in all the Nine. … For a moment, and then he lifts his head again and stares up at Loki, hard.

 

“‘Four weeks,’” he repeats.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you mean to say,” Thor continues, eyes growing wide, “that the heir of Asgard was conceived… in a palace corridor… up against a wall…?”

 

Loki gives Thor a smile that he’s sure is more than half grimace.

 

“I’ve disgraced my father and his father before him,” Thor groans and drops his head, and Loki can’t help but laugh.

 

“It’s not as though anyone will ever know,” he says. 

 

“Our poor child…”

 

Loki laughs even harder. “And we _certainly_ won’t tell her. Norns, could you imagine that conversation someday? Definitely not.”

 

Despite his dramatics, Thor gives in and has a chuckle himself, and then curls back up around Loki’s middle. 

 

Just when Loki thinks he’s gone to sleep, and starts to consider it himself, now that he’s finally wed and sated and elated at the thought of Thor’s child growing in him, Thor’s beard twitches against his skin, tickling.

 

“You said ‘her,’” he says.

 

Did he?

 

“I suppose I did,” Loki replies.

 

“Is that possible? A girl?”

 

“I don’t see why not, with your Aesir genes,” Loki says, imagining a blonde little babe, blue-eyed and giggling, with her father wrapped firmly around her chubby little finger. Or a blue-skinned little girl, with dark curls, sleeping soundly on Thor’s broad chest… and he tries to will away the sudden lump in his throat. 

 

“What a queen she’ll be,” Thor muses. 

 

Loki digs his fingers into Thor’s hair, nods, and closes his eyes.

 

 


End file.
